The Line Between
by Miss Maggie
Summary: I blush more deeply, because although having these particular needs aren’t wrong, but having these particular thoughts about my best friend doesn’t feel right. The line between friendship and romance is shaky at best. Tina-POV, Artie/Tina focus.
1. Prologue: 3 AM

I wake up with a groan, stretching my body languidly as a familiar sensation winds its way down toward the center of my being. Something feels off and I whimper, feeling vaguely unsatisfied, like I was in the middle of something before I awoke. I blink and reach downward, to relieve some of the tension, the weird pressure, but as the sleepy fog clears from my head, memories from the dream sort of wind their way back into my brain.

The idea that I'd just been having an erotic dream about Artie Abrams has me turning beet red and sitting straight up in my bed. My arms are holding me up as I try not to think about it anymore. Of course, this only because it makes me think about it even _more. _Especially his hand, in a particular spot… my eyes trail downward, and my whole body feels hot. Except that this time, it's because I'm mortified and not because of well, …other needs.

I blush more deeply (if it's even possible), because although having these particular needs aren't wrong (at least according to my mother and one very awkward birds and the bees talk when I was eleven), but having these particular thoughts about my best friend (who has forgiven me, but it's still awkward sometimes) doesn't feel right.

I wonder if my subconscious is trying to tell me something?

It probably is, but a quick glance at my bedside clock tells me it's three o'clock in the morning, and really, I should be asleep right now. I've got school in the morning, and glee, and a million other things to worry about. Instead, I'm huddled under the blankets, dreaming vaguely erotic dreams about Artie. My best friend. I blame it on taking a second portion of _kimchi_ at dinner tonight.

Even knowing it's probably a bad idea, my fingers reach out to grab the latest mix CD that Artie tossed oh so covertly into my bag after glee this afternoon. His handwriting is neat and tiny, and I admire it, marveling at the detail in the precise print (especially in comparison to the loopy disaster that is my own handwriting). Reaching under my bed, I grab the old portable CD player that I keep especially for the mix CD's he likes to give me, and I press play.

The bass from the music fills my ears, and I close my eyes and let the music overtake me. The mix CD is heavy on the Jimi Hendrix this time, although a quick glance at the track list shows that Bob Dylan and Eric Clapton have also been generously included. I roll my eyes, wondering why my best friend's taste in music has suddenly decided to go back to the 60's and early 70's.

The guitar solo in _Layla_ makes me sit up straight and nearly drop the clunky old portable CD player. Grinning, I close my eyes and reach for my cell phone, which is also doubling as a flashlight. I quickly hammer out a: _ur rite, layla is pretty good._

I figure that'll be enough for the night, and I turn off the cd player and remove the earbud. It'll be something to talk about in the morning, I think with a smile as I nestle under the blankets more comfortably. I laugh softly to myself as I fall asleep, and my last coherent thought is that I should try to sneak the Spice Girls on his ipod when it's my turn to swap songs. With this amusing plan in mind, I am rewarded with dreams that are …less confusing than the ones that came before it.

Still, it doesn't mean that the nagging thought (or feeling) goes away entirely.


	2. Chapter 1: Head Over Feet

I wake up the next morning, feeling tired, but I manage to only hit the snooze button three times (this is an improvement, really). Still, hitting the snooze button obsessively doesn't exactly do good things for my punctuality, so I wind up running out the door to meet Artie with a unopened package of pop tarts in my mouth, shoving myself into my favorite hoodie as I race down to the corner where we usually meet to walk to school.

"Breathe, Tina," greets me as I'm racing up to join my best friend, who's already waiting at the corner.

I pause, removing the foil-wrapped package from my mouth, and wave at him cheerfully. "And a good morning to you, too."

"You're not running late, so why are you rushing?"

"I'm not?" I blink and glance down at my cell phone. Sure enough, I'm actually about five minutes early. "Oh." I shrug and toss one of the pop tarts at him before taking my usual place behind Artie, preparing to wheel him along to school.

"I've already eaten breakfast, Tina."

"But they're the s'mores kind," I explaine as we head along the familiar route to school. "I figured if I gave it to you now, you wouldn't steal it from me later."

"I wouldn't." Artie's tone is playfully indignant, and he turns around slightly in his chair to glance back at me.

His familiar blue eyes catch mine, and my subconscious decides to bring back a rather interesting flash from the dream last night. I scowle, trying to push the feelings out of my head. Awkwardness is absolutely the last thing I need right now.

"Okay, maybe I would have," concedes Artie, who is now looking a bit concerned. Especially since my glare has deepened and I've stopped pushing his wheelchair. "Okay, this isn't about pop tarts. What's bothering you?"

I shake my head a few times and let out a small growl before I sigh. "I had a really weird dream last night," I explain, trying to gloss over the details. "Not a nightmare or anything, but ah, it was thought-provoking. Weird."

"Want to talk about it?"

Of course he'd ask that. There's no way I can explain that the dream was about him and I in rather, um, not appropriate for most audiences situations, and I cringe as the blush starts to blossom all over my face. I don't want to lie either, so instead, I choose to skirt around the issue. "Girl stuff."

"I have sisters."

"One. And she's younger," I reply teasingly, but with a smile. "Don't worry about it. It wasn't a bad dream or anything. Like I said, just weird girly issues that will likely mortify you and me if I speak anymore about it, so I'll spare you the details."

Artie raises one eyebrow skeptically, clearly not quite buying my explanation. "Still, you texted me at 3:30 in the morning."

"I thought you'd be asleep," I say, resuming my steering. "What, I conceded your point, so shouldn't you be happy about that?"

"You really did like it?" Artie's tone is slightly surprised, but pleased, and this makes me smile brightly.

"Of course. I usually like the music you give me!"

Artie raises his eyebrow again (the other one this time). "And _I_ don't like the music you give me?"

I raise both my eyebrows and wheel him toward Kurt and Mercedes, who are both standing near the school's handicap entrance. "Less often than I do," I reply with a happy little smirk.

School actually isn't so bad today, when you get right down to it. There are no slushie facials, I find out I've actually passed my last math test (not just by the skin of my teeth, either), and I don't fall, trip, or hit the wrong note during glee rehearsal that afternoon.

Later, Artie and I at the park, flipping through each other's ipods before we head our separate ways toward home. I idly click through his library, scanning my eyes for any new additions to the collection. Artie's resting in his chair next to a bench, which I am sprawled upon. My head is brushing up against the armrest of his chair. The silence is actually fairly comfortable, with just the click of our ipods filling the air.

"I knew you had Katy Perry on here, but seriously, High School Musical?"

I pause Artie's ipod and sit up, turning to look at him with a very confused expression on my face. "I do not. Give me a little credit."

Artie holds the ipod up at me, curiously, and after I read the screen, I roll my eyes and hit my best friend lightly upside the head. "Hey!" I whine, not entirely amused.

He just gives me this big, wide, teasing grin in response.

I playfully pout back, but his smile is infectious, so eventually I resort to the ever-mature tactic of sticking out my tongue at him before I re-focus my attention back on his ipod.

"I wouldn't think less of you if you had High School Musical on here. Probably."

"Hey, you kept the Katy Perry on here," I said instead, amused. "I thought you hated her?"

"You were the one that put it on there," replies Artie with a nod. "You're right though, they're ridiculously catchy."

"You wanna put some music on my ipod?" I ask. "It's your turn. Especially after I stuck all that music on yours last time."

"I should get two turns, if only because you included Avril Lavigne and Pink on it during your last turn."

"Again, really catchy," I joke back, still smiling. "And no complaints about White and Nerdy?"

"You were the one that put that on there?" Artie shakes his head at me, clearly exasperated, but his eyes have a teasing lit to them. "I thought it was my sister's doing."

"You don't let her touch your ipod." I scoot closer to his chair and tap the armrest with one blue-painted fingernail. "You barely let me touch your ipod."

"You're holding it right now," he points out.

"You've got mine as collateral."

"I'm not sure that an ipod with the Spice Girls on it qualifies as collateral." Artie holds out my ipod and I roll my eyes, because it's pretty clear he's found my 90's music playlist.

I shake my head and point a finger at my ipod. "I have eclectic taste in music and I'm okay with that."

"So do I," Artie reminds me with a big smile. "Who introduced you to jazz?"

"And you introduced you to punk rock?" I say back happily.

"A wicked guitar solo?"

"You and your guitar solos," I say, with another smile. "Okay, fine. Introduce me to some more of the fabulous guitar solos you rave on about so much. I'll be convinced."

There's a smug smile, and suddenly, Artie's digging out two blank CD's from his bag, his handwriting unmistakable on the shiny silver discs. I take them, shaking my head in obvious amusement.

"Someone was prepared," I say, and rolling my eyes again, this time in amusement.

"I knew I'd be able to lure you over to the dark side eventually." Artie winks at me and taps my ipod curiously.

"Do they have cookies on the dark side?"

"No, but there are excellent guitar solos on the dark side."

Still, Artie chuckles at my random internet meme-inspired humor, and that makes me feel pretty special. My subconscious wants to torment me again (like it hasn't _enough_ already today), but I bite my lip and roughly shove those particular feelings away. Friends, I remind myself. We're still trying to be best friends.

"I'd rather have the cookies," Still, I tuck the CD's safely into my bag and laugh happily. "Okay, I'll listen to them tonight."

"Not at 3:30 in the morning, though," replies Artie, his tone slightly scolding, masking some of the worry and concern also present in the words (which I manage to pick up on).

I bite back the laugh and somberly gesture crossing my heart with my hand. "I promise I won't."

---

**Author's Note:** Okay, so this was the "fluff" I had originally envisioned for this story. I'm still not 100% sure where I'm going with this, except that I really want to write Artie and Tina cuteness, especially after reading several pretty awesome stories here on FFN. I also really am fascinated with Tina's character and want to use this fic as a way to give her some much wanted and sorely needed (by me, at least) development. I've got a tentative idea in mind for where I want the story to end. For now though, expect snapshots from moments within Artie and Tina's friendship, complete with a healthy dose of teenage drama, which also includes hormones and angst for no added charge. I doubt it'll be mature though, so apologies if the prologue might have lead you to believe that. I really want to keep it rated T.

Notes aside, seriously, thank you all so much for the views, reviews and alerts already. In just a few days, this has become my most-read fic on FFN already. Glee fandom is one of the most welcome and talkative fandoms I've ever encountered, and I really appreciate it. Love you guys! I'll keep picking away on this story as time and effort allow, so thanks so much for reading.


	3. Chapter 2: For You I Will

I stroll in from school, my bag safely at my side as I glance around my house. It looks quiet, and I think my parents are still out, so I casually throw my bag on the floor of the foyer and stroll into the kitchen for an afternoon-snack slash early dinner. I'm nosing through the pantry, trying to decide between some odd jar covered in Korean characters that I can't identify and a can of condensed soup, wondering when on earth Mom's been to the grocery store last. I'm about to head down to the freezer in the basement in search of something better when I look up and see my mom sitting at the kitchen table, looking as serene as ever.

"Mom!" I yell, dropping the can of soup so that it hits edge of the pantry shelf and rolls onto my foot with a rather unpleasant _thud._ Luckily, I'm wearing my big clunky boots (which my father always threatens to throw away one night while I'm asleep), and the can hitting my toe doesn't really hurt. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough." My mother has this stern little smile on her face, and I bite my lip, wondering what's wrong this time. "Did you have a good day at school today?"

I nod, and bend down to pick up the fallen can and replace it on the shelf. "Yes. We had Glee today, and Artie gave me some new songs, and I got a B+ on the math test last week."

"Good!" My mother smiles. "I've got a conference call with a client later, but if you want, I can make some more _kimchi _and rice, or something else?"

"What's with the sudden influx of Korean cooking?" I ask, genuinely curious. "Not that your cooking isn't great, Mom, but Dad's usually the one that's into that sort of thing. He's still away, right?" Mom's the Cohen part of my Cohen-Chang last name, by the way. She's Korean, like me and my dad, but she was adopted by an American family in St. Louis and raised Jewish, primarily. It makes for interesting stories.

"New York City this week," says my Mom, gesturing toward the schedule my dad stuck to the fridge before he left with a teddy bear magnet I made in ceramics class at summer camp when I was ten. (It's not my best work and I wish it would just fall off the fridge and break already.)

"Okay, so what about the Korean food?" I ask again.

"You like it, don't you?" My mother looks a bit concerned. "You know I make it for you."

I like traditional Korean food well enough, but still. "Mom."

"Tina." My mom points toward my bag, still lying in a heap in the foyer.

"What's going on?" I ask again as grudgingly go get my bag and drag it toward the kitchen. My appetite is suddenly replaced by curiosity. I settle in across from her at the table, taking out the two CD's Artie's given me. I'm reading the track list he's written neatly on the jewel cases, still keeping one eye on my mother.

"Your grandmother's visiting."

"Grandma Cohen? I thought she died when I was thirteen."

"Grandmother Chang," corrects my mother. "She's flying over from Korea for your aunt Paula's wedding this summer."

"And?" I set the CD's aside and rummage through the bag for my notebook. I open it up and begin to doodle on a blank page. "I've met her before."

"You were seven."

"Yes?" I've started drawing a frame of flowers along the blank margins of the lined paper. "What's the big deal?"

My mother points at my fishnet gloves.

I stop sketching to pick at a loose thread on the glove, and my eyes drift down to them nervously. "I'll look nice for the wedding, promise. The boots and gloves will stay in a closet at home. Besides, it's not for six more months. Are you sure everything's okay?"

"You might want to work on a song to perform for her," says my mother. "I think she'd like it."

My eyes drift down from my gloved hands to my boots. "It's nothing special. Really."

My mom shakes her head at me and stands up, heading toward the refrigerator. "Okay, Tina. Do you want me to make something for you to eat?"

"You've got that conference call, right?" I busy my hands by running them along the edges of my skirt. "I'll find something myself, don't worry about me." I've only done it a million times before.

"All right." My mother shakes her head and heads up to her home office, presumably to take her phone call.

"I'll think about singing for Grandmother Chang, all right?" I yell up the stairs at my mother.

She peers down the staircase and smiles at me.

Slightly disturbed by my mother's sudden interest in my life, I grab my bag and my notebook and rush up to my room, ignoring homework and dinner in favor of working on my latest pet project. I've taken an oversized black t-shirt, and am currently customizing it with careful cuts, safety pins and copious amounts of fishnet. It's hard to find clothes that suit my rather eclectic sense of fashion in a little town like Lima, Ohio, so I tend to order it online and get it delivered. But sometimes, I make it myself.

I'm considering the merits of cutting out the sides of the t-shirt and lacing it back together with a combination of safety pins and these awesome neon blue shoelaces I found in a thrift store for a quarter last weekend. However, the familiar strains of White and Nerdy drift out from my cell phone and I reach out to answer it.

"Hey, Artie."

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Caller ID."

Artie laughs from the other side of the phone line. "That was probably a dumb question, right?"

"Definitely, but you've also got a custom ring tone," I say. "You did actually like Weird Al, right?"

"What is it with you and associating me with White and Nerdy?"

I grin into the phone. "What's up?"

"The sky."

I make a sarcastic little ha-ha sound into my cell phone. "You don't usually call me during the week."

"I need your help." Artie's voice sounds vaguely dramatic into the tinny reception of my cell phone.

I shift the phone to my other ear and reply. "With what? It sounds like a dangerous favor you're about to ask for."

"You read _Midsummer Night's Dream_, right?"

"For English, yeah." I idly study the blue nail polish on my fingers as I think about the play. "What? Do you need help studying for the test on Monday?"

"Maybe."

I laugh at the reluctance in Artie's tone, but I quickly stifle it. "Hey, no problem. Want me to go over to your house Saturday and help you study? You did help me get that B+ on the last math test. "

"Noon?"

"That'd work. I think my mom's attempting to bond with me. I'm not sure I like it."

"Isn't your mom working a lot?"

I sigh into the phone. "I mean, I'm glad she's interested and all, but it's odd. Remember the last time this happened?"

"Didn't she buy you all those dresses that you wound up giving to my little sister?"

"Exactly." I grin, because Artie gets it, just like I knew he would. "Anyway. I love her and everything, but she does think I should sing for my grandmother at Aunt Paula's wedding this summer. The one in Korea, who's still alive," I quickly explain.

"You should do it." His voice is quietly confident. "You've got a great voice."

"I told my mom I'd think about it."

"You'd be really good at it." He still sounds confident, and it makes me blush a little into the phone.

"I'm going to listen to the CD's you gave me this afternoon," I say, instead. "See ya tomorrow at school?"

"Of course," he says back. "I still think you should sing for your grandmother. You're amazing."

The blush deepens. "Really?"

"Come on. I'll help you pick out a song."

"Then it's a deal."

As I click my phone shut, I close my eyes and wonder just how Artie manages to talk me into doing these things. But I'm smiling as I reach for the portable CD player with one of the new CD's Artie's given me. I quietly listen along as I reach for a pair of scissors to get to work on my t-shirt.

---

**Author's Note: **No long, extensive notes this time. I just really, really love Glee fandom, especially the Artie/Tina fans. You're all _amazing._


	4. Chapter 3: Breathe

"So basically, Oberon was kind of a jerk, and that's what started a lot of this mess," I explain quietly, tapping the cover of my copy of _Midsummer Night's Dream_ with my finger. "He was jealous of the changeling Titania was entrusted with by one of her own worshippers? Followers? Something like that. Anyway, there are like three different plotlines and it gets really weird before it ends more or less happily ever after."

"And you're going to explain this to me?" Artie's sitting at the kitchen table in his house, half-listening to me and half-eying the plate of cookies next to me on the table.

"Did you even read the play?" I ask, curious. I take a cookie from the plate and wag the book at Artie, playfully scolding. "I can't help you if you didn't even read the play."

Artie raises an eyebrow at me, but I ignore it and nibble at the cookie. He pouts at me playfully, which I interpret as an invitation to take a second cookie. When the pout settles into a teasing glare, I finally, slowly, deliberately, slide the plate of cookies over so that he can reach them.

"You could have asked for them, you know," I say, smiling.

"But that would have been easy."

"And you enjoy making my life difficult." I sigh, but I'm still smiling. I let Artie gorge himself on cookies for a few minutes while I open my copy of play and begin skimming through, trying to find my favorite scene.

"What are you looking for?" Artie asks softly, which suddenly snaps me back to reality.

"I'm trying to decide what scene I liked best," I say, after thinking about it for a few moments. "It's a really old play yeah, but it's kinda witty. I mean it sucks that Hermia had to choose between getting married, joining a convent, or dying, but Puck's kind of interesting. He's at least a lot more tolerable than the Puck we know."

"You really liked this play, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did. That's not weird, right?" I bite my lip, suddenly nervous. Why am I so nervous about liking a play I had to read for English class? This is lame.

"Nah, it's pretty awesome that you liked it so much, Tee." Artie looks me in the eye, and it's a look so sincere, so thoughtful that I have to resist the urge to blink. I feel myself getting lost in his bright gaze, and it scares me a little.

"Even better for both our sakes, since it's pretty clear you really didn't read the play," I say, trying to make a joke. "Because it's obvious you're trying to butter me up here."

This probably wasn't the right thing to say, and Artie abruptly looks down. Now, he's staring at his own copy of the book, looking a little lost.

Finally, I reach over and pat his shoulder comfortingly. "Hey, it's all right if you didn't read it or whatever."

"No, it's not that," he says, and that catches me by surprise.

I suddenly find my gloves the most interesting thing in the world to look at. As I'm staring down, I impulsively let my head fall onto the tabletop. I've never actually attempted a literal headdesk before, but there's something soothing about letting my forehead rest on the cool wood, my hair fanning out around me.

"Are you all right?" Artie sounds concerned, almost worried, but I'm not ready to pick my head up from the table yet.

I mumble out a fine, but I'm pretty sure Artie doesn't hear it, if only because I can hardly hear my own voice myself.

"Tina?"

I lift my head slightly, but still keep my hair down over my eyes. With a sigh and a final shake of my head, my hair is out of my face and I'm staring across the table at Artie again. Familiar blue eyes are looking at me with a great deal of concern, and it makes the butterflies in my stomach start up again.

Why is everything suddenly so awkward? It never was before.

I prop my chin with my elbows and meet Artie's eyes. "I'm fine," I say, a bit more confidently this time. A bit more loudly, at least.

"Taking the term headdesk literally generally doesn't indicate fine, Tee."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," I reply softly, leaning forward a little bit. Better than it being all awkward. Why is it so awkward now? I hate awkward.

"Generally, self-inflicted head injuries are never a good idea." Artie's tone is sarcastic, almost dry, and I can't help but grin, because it's so normal. And just like that, it's not awkward anymore. At least, for now, it isn't.

"I didn't injure myself," I point out, keeping the grin firmly affixed on my face. "I just decided to get up close and personal with your kitchen table. Nothing was hurt in the process."

"So the kitchen table is better company than me?"

I playfully throw a napkin at my best friend in response.

"And then you throw napkins at me." Artie attempts to look annoyed, but he's smiling, too. "Tee, you're impossible."

I grab another cookie and bite into it, attempting to look innocent, but mostly failing miserably at it. "Am not," I mumble, with my mouth full.

"Are you really all right?"

Trust Artie to never let a subject drop. I finish my cookie and nod at him. "Yep," I say, nodding my head for emphasis. "It was just something I wanted to try. I'm okay, really."

Artie doesn't reply. Instead, he's throwing his copy of the play on top of mine, and wheeling himself away from the table. "We can study that later, right?" He asks, and his tone is hopeful, almost pleading. "After dinner, maybe? Or tomorrow? Or never."

"I don't think never's going to work."

"Darn." He snaps his fingers, and looks appropriately disappointed. "Come on, we've studied enough for now, especially if it's got you doing face plants into the table already. Wanna play video games?"

I tug at the sleeve of my striped t-shirt and stand up, making my way toward the Abrams's living room. "Sure," I say, easily. "I bet I'll beat you this time."

Artie's already there, setting up the controllers and shaking his head. "No way. You'll never surpass the master."

"Since the master's your older brother, I guess we're both in trouble," I remark dryly, as I take a controller and let Artie settle himself on the sofa. Once he's comfortable, I kick off my boots and curl up next to him (but not too close) as we prepare to play some Mario Kart.

"You're mean, Tee." Artie groans, his eyes firmly affixed to the TV screen in front of us.

I playfully poke him in the shoulder and grin happily. "You're just saying that because I just made you drive off the track."

"On purpose," he grumbles, but then he passes me and suddenly brightens up again.

I roll my eyes and continue playing. "This is fun, Artie," I say, after a moment.

"Of course it is. Does that mean we don't have to study anymore later?"

I laugh, but feel confident enough to scoot over a little closer to Artie on the sofa. "Nice try."

He doesn't say anything about the fact that I'm suddenly invading his personal space. Instead, he just pokes me back in a spot where I'm pretty ticklish. I start giggling and swat at his hand, dropping my controller. "No fair," I grumble as Artie's side of the screen flashes VICTORY.

"Two out of three?"

I smile, and let my leg brush up against his. He can't feel it, but I can, and it makes me feel comfortable. Confident. "Sure. I'll win this time."

"Good luck with that," he says, a bit sarcastically.

I don't say anything, instead focusing my attention back on the TV screen. I'm perfectly content, happily spending a lazy Saturday afternoon with my best friend. What more can anyone ask for?

**Author's Note: **Hey, hey, another chapter, with fluff that sort of turned serious and then got fluffy on me again. I'm working on the next chapter too, and that one looks to be pretty fluffy, then I've got some plotty drama in mind. Mwah, plot. Anyway, thanks for all the reviews and the alerts and favorites so far, it means the world to me. In other news, as of Dec. 23rd, I am an aunt (!!!), and I'm also sort of getting over a head cold, so um… this chapter was mostly written while under the influence of a combination of Nyquil, Benadryl, and Zyrtec, plus strawberry cough drops. The glee kids get _loco_ on decongestants, I just get sleepy. Somehow, that just seems unfair, don't you agree?


	5. Chapter 4: Pocketful of Sunshine

I wake up with a groan and a slight grimace. I had been having a particularly interesting (and ridiculously embarrassing) dream about Artie again, and I hate this half-finished feeling running throughout my own body. I want to go back to sleep and try and find that dream again, but it's pretty clear that's not going to happen. Opening one eye a smidge, it reveals that it's 5:42 in the morning. I'm about to roll over and go back to sleep, because it's a good hour until I'm actually supposed to be awake.

Only suddenly, I'm sitting up straight, reaching for the tissue box on my nightstand because I'm suddenly sneezing six times in a row. My head is now pounding, and as I cough into the tissues, it suddenly becomes clear that it hurts to swallow, because my throat feels like it's on fire.

I'd felt fine last night, so why am I feeling so sick now? I attempt to get up out of bed, sneeze again, and almost trip over my own two feet because I'm suddenly feeling really dizzy. Using the wall to support myself, I stumble into the bathroom, where I raid the medicine cabinet for anything labeled specifically for head cold relief.

I find an unopened box labeled _cold and flu relief,_ and after checking to make sure it's not the same stuff Mrs. S gave us that one time (hyper is the last thing I need right now), I silently attempt to work open one of the tiny little foil-wrapped pill packages. My mother apparently hears me fighting with the medicine wrapper, because she comes into the bathroom, takes one look at me, and carefully guides me back to bed. She gives me the pills, which I swallow with a bit of difficulty. She asks me if I want her to stay with me today.

I shake my head, and shoo my mom away. "I'll be okay," I croak out, wincing at the sound of my voice. "Just a cold. Let me sleep today, and I'll be fine."

My mother gives in, but only if I promise to call her if I'm feeling worse. She makes me some soup and hot tea before she finally leaves for work (my dad's still away on his own tour, Boston today, if I remember right), but the medicine has knocked me out and I'm sleeping soundly again.

About two hours later, my phone makes a disgruntled beeping sound at me (okay, it's the same sound as always, but it _seems_ annoyed today), and I reach for it blearily, still half-asleep. I immediately sit up (which induces another coughing fit) once I realize it's Artie, texting me, wondering where the heck I am. I sniffle while quickly hammering out a message to my best friend: _sorry sick not going 2 school 2day good luck k_

I'm about to drift off to sleep again, but before I do, I see a message that reads: _feel better soon_, and I'm smiling through my stuffy nose as I nod off again.

It's afternoon now, and I'm feeling much better after sleeping all morning. I've managed to drag myself downstairs, where I reheat the soup and make more tea as I prepare to settle in front of the TV to zone out for a few hours. I've taken a shower, but instead of putting on my usual attire, I instead wear my favorite pair of pajamas; a pair of black pajama pants covered with vivid blue flames and white skulls and a well-worn Ramones t-shirt, which is a bit large on my small frame.

I delicately balance the bowl of soup and the tea on a tray, which I set on top of the coffee table. I have to be really careful, eating in here; sick or not, my mom will have my head if I spill soup on her ridiculously expensive living room furniture.

I'm flipping through the channels haphazardly (why is daytime television so awful?), hacking up a lung into the box of tissues situated closely nearby. I'm finally trying to decide between a rerun of Mythbusters (which always reminds me of Artie), and the satellite radio channel, but the doorbell rings. I sneeze one more time for good measure, then slowly pick myself up off of the sofa, stumbling to the door.

I peek out through the window, and resist the urge to run right back up into bed once I realize it's Artie paying me a visit. My hair's still damp from the shower, I'm not wearing any makeup, and my face is all red and puffy from my stuffy nose. My pajamas are decent, but they're still freaking pajamas. With a resigned sigh (that quickly turns into a hacking cough), I open the door.

"What brings you over?" I manage to croak out, pleased that I don't start coughing immediately after speaking for once today.

"You do look sick," is what Artie says, and I stick my tongue out at him and let out a rather gross sniffle. I open the door so Artie can wheel himself in, then I reach for my box of tissues.

"Wanna watch Mythbusters?" I ask, heading into the living room and breathing in the scent of my warm mug of tea, which I've picked up from the table.

"I thought you only tolerated it because I liked it," says Artie. He's wheeling in behind me, looking positively delighted at seeing one of his favorite TV shows on my dad's ridiculously oversized flat-screen television set (my mom calls it an eyesore, my dad veto'd her vote because she got to decorate every other room in the house with her professional touch; she's an interior designer. I, of course, got no vote whatsoever, my fashion sense is apparently "enough of a vote" for me).

"You do have a point about the explosions," I reply, smiling happily. My smile falters as I notice the folders in his lap. "Is that my homework?"

Artie nods. "Yeah, I went and got it after school for you today."

"And here I thought you liked me," I say, teasing. I sneeze again, but reach for the folders. "Thanks anyway."

"You're not going to work on it tonight, are you?" Artie laughs at me, but moves over toward the sofa. I pat a spot softly next to me and grin.

"Of course not," I reply. "I'm still sick. I've been sleeping like all day, and I seriously don't think I'm gonna have enough brain strength to attempt to work through all this. I'll get it done soon, though."

"Yeah, sure," replies Artie, his tone teasing and light. "Hey, this episode's really good."

I momentarily let my eyes drift toward the TV. "Really? Don't tell me… you've seen every episode of this."

Artie's gaze drifts downward, and he looks vaguely embarrassed. I gently hit him on the shoulder and smile, humming White and Nerdy under my breath.

"You're singing it again." Artie's grumbling, and it makes me smile. I want to laugh, but I'm trying not to, because I know that will make me just start coughing again.

"It reminds me of you, and it suits you to a T," I say, reaching for a throw placed neatly over the back of the sofa. I drape it over myself, and gesture toward Artie, asking if he wants to be covered up with it too. He nods, and I scoot closer and toss the blanket over us both.

"But you're the T, Tee."

"It's just an expression," I reply with a groan, poking him in the side again. "You're such a dork, Artie."

"Yeah, but you like me anyway."

I do laugh this time, for a few seconds, until I start coughing, making myself hoarse. "Yeah, you're right," I finally croak out once my breath comes back to me.

"You sound like a frog." Artie looks at me, concerned. "Maybe you should not talk for a bit."

I smile, because I think this is the first time in my life that somebody's ever told me not to talk. But I lean back into the sofa, and the feel of Artie's hand on my leg, rubbing it comfortingly, finally sends me drifting back into a contented sleep.

Maybe being sick isn't so bad after all.

**Author's Note: ** Love you all, the reviews and alerts and the new friends I seem to be making through fandom is all kinds of incredible. Nothing witty to report this time; my mom's drug me shopping two days in a row, and I'm actually kind of exhausted. Oh, to be home for the holidays. I hope everyone else is having a nice holiday season; Happy New Year! :)


	6. Chapter 5: Complicated

It's two days later, and I'm finally feeling better, but it's now Saturday, so I don't actually have to go to school. I throw on the shirt I was working on right before I got sick, pleased that my handiwork seems to have actually paid off for once. The blue shoelaces add an interesting touch of color, and I'm actually in a pretty good mood today.

As I head downstairs, I groan, because massive amounts of make-up work are staring me in the face. Still, I settle in at the kitchen table, and diligently work on assignments for most of the morning, before a rumbling in my stomach indicates that it's lunchtime and I deserve a break. I've gotten through everything but the hated math assignments, and I figure I'll just bug Artie for help with that tomorrow sometime. I'm determined not to let my cheerful mood be wasted on any more homework today.

A quick study of the kitchen reveals that it's still as empty as it was when I was looking for food last week, so I quickly raid the cookie jar, where my mom keeps loose change and money that I routinely raid for take-out, especially when she and my dad are working late. Or on the weekends. Or if they both happen to be away on business trips, like right now (to my mom's credit, she almost canceled hers after I got sick, but I more or less pushed her into going). Trying to decide what to order for lunch has a little lightbulb going off in my head. I dash out of the house, grabbing my hoodie and the cash. I run back after a moment, reluctantly taking my schoolbag along with me.

Twenty minutes later, I'm knocking on the Abrams' front door, holding my schoolbag in one arm and a pizza in the other. "Hey, open up, Artie, I know you're here alone today."

I hear a familiar set of wheels rolling up to the door, and sure enough, it's Artie, who's opening the door for me with a curious smile. "You're looking better," he says after a moment.

"Feeling tons better too," I say, happily. "Anyway, I brought food."

"Let me guess, you need help catching up on all the math and the science assignments you missed."

"Just the math," I counter, knowing that Artie does know me a bit too well. "I was gonna ask for help with it tomorrow."

"But you're here today," Artie points out. "With pizza, no less. This must be some seriously wicked math."

I grin, glad I did impulsively decide to come over. "Anyway, I remembered you said you'd be here alone for most of the day, and I thought you'd like some company."

"Good. I can set up the Xbox 360 later, if you want? I'll teach you how to play Halo later, like I promised you before, or we could try DDR with our hands again?" Artie looks really excited about this particular activity, and it's hard to deny Artie much when he's genuinely excited. (For me at least.) Besides, it could be fun.

"Okay, I'm game." I throw down my bag and gesture toward the pizza with my newly-free hand. "Where do you want it?"

Artie gestures toward the kitchen table. "Did you remember to get mushrooms on the pizza?"

"Duh," I say, sitting the pizza box on the table and opening it up. "What kind of person do you think I am?"

"One with very good taste, clearly." Artie's got plates as he's wheeling himself up to the table, right next to me, and he seems amused. "Did you really come over here just to ask me to help you with homework?"

"What?" I say, taking a slice of the pizza and a huge bite out of it. I chew quickly and swallow before speaking. "I just wanted to see you, Artie. That's all right, right?"

"You're over here all the time anyway," he points out, amused. "You don't need an invitation."

"But the pizza is appreciated."

"I'm never one to turn down perfectly good mushroom pizza,"

"You're never one to turn down perfectly good anything, especially when it comes to food," I tease back, feeling really pleased with myself.

"I thought that was you?"

Artie's grinning at me like a maniac, and feeling content, I take another slice of pizza. "I appreciate good food and good company." I nibble at the food, for a moment, before speaking again. "Although I guess you'll have to do for now."

"A dagger to my heart, Tee," replies Artie, a bit melodramatically.

I stick my tongue out at him in response, and much to my surprise, he copies the gesture. I immediately start laughing, and eventually I have to grab a hold of the table, for fear I'll fall out of my chair, I'm laughing so hard.

"I didn't think I was that funny." Artie's smiling, grinning really, a big goofy one that always makes my heart melt. It was the same smile he gave me back when we met in sixth grade, and it's hard to say no to a smile like that.

Butterflies are jumping around in my stomach, and my subconscious is choosing right now to present me with flashbacks from the dreams that I've had off and on for the past few weeks. I'm not laughing anymore, but I am blushing, and Artie looks so… well, so… (it's hard for me to acknowledge the fact that my best friend is hot and adorable and a dork all at the same time), and without really thinking about it (he really _is_ cute, grinning like that), I lean in and kiss him. Quickly, it's feather-light, and brief; I regain my senses and pull back before it gets too deep.

Artie's just kind of staring at me now, looking confused and he's definitely not smiling anymore.

I'm inwardly beating myself upside the head (things were finally getting back to normal and what _happened to my vow about __**avoiding awkward situations**__?!?!?!_) and still blushing, only now I'm biting the inside of my cheek and my lip, and… damn, I suddenly really want to cry. Or at least crawl into a corner and hide. Until I'm seventy.

"I'm sorry," is all I can think to say, and then I quickly duck my head, because I can't stand seeing that confusion on my best friend's face. Before Artie can say anything, before I can start crying, and before the confusion can cross over into rejection—I'm running out the door, mumbling a good-bye under my breath so fast I'm not even really sure I said it and didn't just think I said it.

Once I get into my room, I throw myself on the bed, ready to let the tears fall. However, I realize I'm more angry at myself than ready to cry (how on earth could I have done something_ so completely stupid_?) I'm so lame, why did I do that, I'm so lame, such an idiot, an idiot...

My phone rings, the familiar ring that lets me know it's Artie (I really hate White and Nerdy right now), but I throw the phone on my bed and cover it with every single one of my pillows. Once my phone finally silences itself, I grab a pair of scissors and reach into a box under my bed for my old rag dolls. I haven't cut their hair off in ages, not since I joined Glee at least. But at the moment, I'm furious with myself and with my moronic behavior, so it's time to take out my frustrations on my old childhood toys. Taking frustrated, panicked breaths, I begin to cut at the yarn hair, slashing and hacking aimlessly, just letting the locks fall to the carpet in uneven slices. As my breathing steadies itself and the initial panic and adrenaline begins to wear off, finally, furiously, the tears fall.

I drop the scissors and the dolls and curl up on my bed, berating myself and my stupidity until I fall into a discontented sleep.

I do dream, but it's the farthest thing from pleasant this time; a nightmare might be more appreciated.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Not much to say this time, but your feedback is amazing and it's definitely kept me working hard on this story. (I think this may have been the fastest I've written a chaptered fic in my life, outside of NaNoWriMo season, that is!) I go back to school and work on Monday, so chapters might be coming a bit more slowly as I readjust to a new semester, but I do have a definite end goal for the story in mind. The tentative outline suggests about three, maybe four more chapters depending on how many more ideas I get. Thanks for reading!

**Reviews are love. :)**


	7. Chapter 6: Frozen

When I wake up from my unplanned nap, I'm still feeling all kinds of horrible, and I'm half-tempted to roll over and try to go back to sleep. However, there's a knocking sound at the door, and by the sounds of it, it's getting more and more impatient. Rubbing my slightly-swollen eyes, I kick aside shreds of cut-doll hair and head downstairs to get the door.

The last person I'm expecting to greet me is Artie's twelve-year old sister, Katie. I sort of look down at her with a raised eyebrow, wondering why this particular Abrams has come to pay me a visit instead of the one I'm actually, you know, friends with.

"Katie?" I say, definitely curious. "What are you doing here?"

"Stop making my brother so sad," she says. The kid, all four-feet of her, gives me this withering glare, and I'm left wondering what the heck I did.

"Excuse me?" I stammer, definitely more confused now than I was at the start of this particular conversation.

"Artie's been trying to call you all afternoon," she says, her tone still annoyed. "But you're not picking up your phone and he's refusing to come over here so I'm stuck playing delivery."

I look down and notice that Katie's got my schoolbag slung over one of her shoulders. "Oh." I'm really not sure what else to say. It's not every day a middle schooler tries to give you the third degree.

She unceremoniously drops the bag at my feet, and I grab it and quickly shove it in the foyer. "Thanks for bringing it over."

Katie just rolls her eyes at me and I'm starting to wonder why on earth I'm letting myself get sassed by a little kid, so I glare back. However, with my red eyes and runny makeup, the glare is anything but intimidating.

"Artie and you had another fight, right?" she says, in a no-nonsense tone.

"Yeah, so?" I'm getting defensive.

"Fix it and make it better." Katie gives me a little smile now. It's nowhere near as nice as the ones she usually gives me, so I know she's still angry at me. (What for? I'm still not quite sure.)

"It's not that easy," I say, knowing my excuse is lame the minute it leaves my lips.

"You made it work after the last big fight you guys had, and I don't think this one is probably as bad." Katie shrugs.

"It's weird," I admit. "But thanks for bringing my bag back."

"You said that already." Katie shakes her head, then starts to turn and head back down my driveway. "Good luck," she calls out over her shoulder as she's about to start down the sidewalk.

I'm left scratching my head as I trudge back upstairs to my room. Despite what she's just said, I really don't know if I want to talk to Artie just yet. The little curl of hope in my chest at the thought that Artie might not be too mad at me is one thing, but I can't help but be afraid things are just going to be smashed into a hundred tiny pieces, like the last time I did something sort of reckless (or at least, spoke first without really thinking things through).

With an annoyed little frown crossing over my features (since when did my life get so freaking complicated, anyway?), I decide to bury myself in busy work. This starts with me vacuuming up the mess of cut doll hair, for starters, then I move on to finishing the rest of my homework, and I finally know it's gotten bad when I've taken out the feather duster and am meticulously dusting all of the various Korean knickknacks and mementos my parents keep on a bookshelf in the dining room.

My cell phone rings and I nearly jump out of my skin at the sudden noise, but the ring's not White and Nerdy this time, so I answer the phone without really thinking about it.

"What's up with you and Wheels this time?" Mercedes is screeching into phone and I instinctively pull it away from my ear.

"I really don't want to talk about it," I say, settling into one of the dining room chairs, beginning to absently toy with the duster. "I really, really don't."

"You know I'm on your side during all of this, right?" Mercedes' voice has a warning tone to it, and I'm getting the sinking feeling that she's going to probably yell at me because of whatever's happened this time.

"I did something impulsive, it backfired," is all I will say. "I don't wanna talk about it, okay?"

"I'm calling Kurt, we'll come over. You're at home, right?"

"I'm fine!" I say into the phone, only I'm more yelling than speaking. I know that they both mean well, but I just want to end this conversation and wallow alone. "I just wanna be by myself for a bit."

"Girl," says Mercedes, "it must be serious. You never like being alone. Kurt and I will be there in ten… no, make it fifteen." The call ends with a defiant click, and I'm left staring at the phone for several minutes, struck speechless.

In fact, I'm still staring at the phone when there's a determined knock on the front door sometime later, and (because I forgot to lock the door after Katie left) soon enough, Kurt and Mercedes are both barging in to the dining room, where I'm still sitting, staring at my cell phone, holding the feather duster limply in my other hand.

Kurt's got movies and ice cream and chocolate, and Mercedes leans forward and takes the cell phone gently from my hands, followed by the feather duster. I'm still sitting there, just sort of staring off into space, wondering, because honestly? This was not at all how I expected my day to go in the slightest.

I'm not really sure how long I sat there for, just sort of frozen, but I immediately come back to life the minute I overhear Kurt mention something about makeovers.

"Makeover? What?" I say, shaking my head, a worried look on my face. The last time Kurt said something about makeovers, I'd been drafted into doing that ridiculous Single Ladies routine. (Which to be perfectly honest was a lot of fun, but those stupid heeled shoes nearly caused me to sprain my ankle and let's not get into that unitard… thing.)

"Girl, you were starting to worry me, staring off into space like that." Mercedes' tone is gentle, which lets me know in an instant that I must look like a wreck. I turn to her and she gives me a hug, then together the three of us head into the living room to eat ice cream and chocolate and watch movies. Even though both of them are dying to ask me what happened, aside from several curious looks (every ten minutes; I was half tempted to start timing it) directed my way, they seem to respect my desire to not talk about it.

For the most part though, I'm only half paying attention to everything. The last time Kurt and Mercedes came over to my house and did something like this, I was a crying mess, broken and hurt from the disaster that was my first date with Artie. The circumstances are eerily similar, although this time, I'm not crying. I'm just there, present in body, but not in mind. I feel …numb, actually.

I occasionally remember to chime in with something to say, but I'm not focused by any stretch of the imagination. By the time gets late enough that Mercedes and Kurt should probably go, they're not completely convinced that I should be here alone tonight. I absently agree to go shopping with them tomorrow; they look a little relieved and eventually this is what finally convinces them to leave.

After closing the door on them (and locking it this time), I retreat back upstairs to my room. After my impromptu nap this afternoon, plus being wired up on sugar from the evening with Mercedes and Kurt, sleep is out of the question. So instead, I take out a pair of scissors and a needle and thread, and I work on modifying some more of my clothes. There's something soothing about the task, and in a way, it's just as comforting as the movie night was.

I prick my finger on the needle around four in the morning, and I'm half-tempted to cry. Instead I suck at the small cut on my finger and laugh, because really, what else can you do?

---

**Author's Note:** A couple things this time.

1) I love you all for writing and reviewing and being made of awesome. Seriously, _37 reviews_ on this already?

2) A couple of you caught it, but Tina's doll haircutting fascination came from the official Glee website on FOX. Check it out, it's kind of an amusing site, especially the character bios.

3) I'm tentatively working on a fic entitled _Perky Goth_. It's meant to be a series of drabbles that will ultimately become a oneshot about Tina. Why she might've started stuttering, why she's not as goth as most people would expect, etc. I've hit a bit of a wall with it though, and am looking for people to talk _Glee_ with... honestly, new friends to talk Glee with is always appreciated! E-mail me at madame [dot] maggie [at] gmail [dot] com if you're interested in being an idea-bouncer. :) Or catch me on AIM: PearlRose86

4) I _think_ that's everything... unless you count the fact that snow is forecasted in Florida for this week. I believe my reaction was: "OMGWTFBBQ SNOW IN FLORIDA?!?!" Stay warm, everyone!

**Reviews are love. ^^ **


	8. Chapter 7: Who Says You Can't Go Home

The shopping trip with Mercedes and Kurt is actually kind of fun the next day. I'm sort of a half-asleep zombie, since I didn't _actually_ sleep at all last night, but two cups of tea and three cups of coffee in lieu of food for breakfast has me at least standing upright. Mercedes and Kurt are arguing over the proper shade of something (is it raspberry or magenta… I don't think I care), oblivious to anything else around them.

Instead, I'm staring at a pair of knee-high boots on a display nearby, trying to talk myself out of getting them, even as I'm looking through the pile of shoeboxes for a pair in my size. They're black and kind of clunky with a low heel, which I like, but they're sleeker than most of the shoes I own.

"You need to buy those," says Kurt, his conversation with Mercedes over (I never did figure out what color they decided it actually was).

To say I'm startled is putting it lightly, and I wind up dropping the box, landing flat on my butt as it goes flying, crashing into the display and causing shoeboxes and boots to go flying out spectacularly in all directions.

"They're a good shoe," continues Kurt, like I didn't just knock over a whole display. "They're also missing the despicable buckles, chains, and four-inch combat heels that are commonly associated with every other boot you own."

"They're too expensive," I mutter, hurriedly righting the display.

Mercedes shoves a shoebox into my hands. "Fifty percent off, girl," she says, pointing to a sign. "You've been staring at them for fifteen dang minutes, so just get them already."

"Buy them already before you drool all over the impeccable leather," adds in Kurt.

I smile, even as I'm taking the box up to the check out. Maybe my friends aren't quite as oblivious as I think they are sometimes. It's a thought that makes me really feel better, probably for the first time all weekend.

"Thanks guys," I say, as we're leaving the store. "I know I've been spastic all weekend."

"Do you need me to cut Wheels?" asks Mercedes. "Or are you going to talk to him and work things out?"

"I'll talk to him," I say, flushing. "But on Monday, all right?"

Kurt and Mercedes both nod in approval, and nothing more is said about the matter for the rest of the shopping trip. I'm grateful.

Later that afternoon, I'm climbing out of Kurt's SUV, exhausted (those two shopping would put marathon runners shame), but feeling a little relieved. I'm humming under my breath as I turn on my cell phone, which Mercedes turned off after she took it out of my hands last night. It cheerfully informs me I've missed eight calls. When I check the history, I nearly drop the phone when I realize that all eight of the missed calls are from one person: Artie.

Instead, I settle for dropping my shopping bag on the grass, sitting down next to it. Okay, so maybe this can't wait until Monday. There aren't any texts or voicemails, so I know that this is pretty important. I'm trying to think, but I still feel kinda stupid, and a lot scared. Really, really, scared of making the first move.

My brow is furrowed in concentration, but then I hear a squeaking sound, which abruptly has my head jerking up. I feel the color draining out of my face as I put two and two together, realizing that the squeaking sound is coming from a familiar wheelchair, which is currently making its way up my driveway. I quickly duck my head, letting my hair cover my face as I stare down at my lap.

"Are you okay?" he asks. He sounds nervous, but I don't trust myself enough to peek my head up to look and see if he really is. "Kurt sent me a text and told me to come over."

That sneaky little…! "I guess I'm all right," I say, although it comes out more softly and a lot less confidently than I had originally anticipated.

"You've been avoiding me." There's no harshness in Artie's tone, but there is hurt.

My head ducks down lower, especially as the one-two punch of guilt and shame creep into my system. I don't say anything, instead bringing my knees up to my chest. I loosely wrap my arms around my legs, wanting nothing more than for all of this to go away and be nothing more than a bad dream.

The silence settles awkwardly between us for several more minutes. I'm still huddled up in a ball on the grass, and I have no idea where Artie is. I know he's still here, because I can hear him keeping time on the armrest of his chair. It's a comforting _tap-tap-tap_ and that steady rhythm is all that's stopping me from breaking down in tears.

Finally, I realize that I have to be the one to break the silence. I was the one that ran away, the one who chose to hide all weekend. I owe him an explanation. With every ounce of willpower I have, I uncurl my legs and push my hair away from my face.

"I'm sorry," I begin, my voice barely more than a whisper. I'm still looking down at my lap. "I'm sorry I ran away. I was scared. You looked so confused, and I was afraid you'd reject me again. So I left first this time."

Apparently it's loud enough for Artie to hear, because he's wheeling closer to the grass, toward me. I know for a fact his wheelchair isn't very useful on the grass, so I scoot myself toward the driveway, but before I can stand up, Artie's carefully lowering himself out of the chair, pulling himself down to the grass so we can both talk to each other more easily.

I move myself out of the way, and let Artie get himself settled. He pats the spot next to him, and taking it as a sign, I move a little closer. I keep my gaze anywhere but at him, though. Looking at the shoebox peeking out of the shopping bag abandoned a few feet away on the lawn seems safer for my fragile state of mind at the moment.

"We really need to talk," he says, his tone serious.

I swallow nervously, but nod. We'd barely spoken to each other for two weeks after the stutter incident. Then suddenly, we just as easily started speaking to each other again, like the three weeks previous (including the disastrous date and the events leading up to it) had never happened. Aside from a few very awkward moments, it all seemed so normal.

But it wasn't normal, it hadn't been normal, and what exactly did normal mean, anyway?

"I still like you, like, really _like_ you," I finally manage to say. "But I don't want to lose you. You were my best friend first, my only friend for so long. I can't _not_ have you in my life, Artie… you're important to me."

"Good, 'cause I like you too."

This comment has me jerking my head up suddenly, meeting Artie eye to eye for the first time all afternoon. "Really?" I can't keep the hope out of my voice. "I was afraid I'd lost you for good."

"Tee, you're important to me, too." Artie's face looks really sincere and the conviction behind the words is so honest that I do feel my eyes starting to burn.

I bite my lip and blink back the tears; I have more important things to worry about right now. "I didn't fake the stutter just because I was a surly kid who didn't do her homework. There was more to it than that."

"Want to talk about it?"

This open invitation is all that it takes for the tears to start flowing. I wipe at my eyes with my gloves angrily. "Why do I cry so much? It's stupid, it won't make anything better."

"It's not stupid to cry when you're feeling like you are now." Artie reaches out to take my hand, even though it's a little snotty and wet from my tears. "Come on, Tee, talk to me."

I take a deep breath and slowly, I begin to speak, and Artie, true to his word, listens to me this time. Really listens. He squeezes my hand whenever I feel the tears threatening, and doesn't interrupt me, even if I need a few minutes to think about what I'm going to say next. I tell him about my shyness, about moving, about feeling alone and being lonely and so many other things.

He then explains his side of the story, how he felt hurt, how he was angry, how he wanted to think things through and how missed me, missed our friendship. This time, I'm the one squeezing his hand in a comforting manner, moving closer to close the distance between us.

By the time we've both said our share, I've moved close enough so are legs are flush with each other, and it's starting to get dark. I'm shivering because it has gotten cooler, and Artie looks a bit cold as well. He's still holding my hand. I lean forward to give Artie a hug, and everything seems lighter (even if it _is_ technically dusk).

"So," I say, reaching up and fiddling a piece of my hair with my free hand. "Wanna come in? I'll order pizza. We don't have any of the cool video games like you have at your place, but I do have movies. We can do sorta what we were planning to do yesterday?"

"It sounds great, Tee," he said, giving me a small smile. "But help me back into my chair first?"

The sincerity behind his smile has me smiling back. It's my first smile all day, and it makes me feel braver. "Anytime, Artie."

----

**Author's Note:** Not much to say about the chapter this time, I think it speaks for itself. Nothing too witty to say about myself this time either, sorry, my allergies are killing me slowly today (hiiii~ Rudolph!nose). But kudos to all the people that liked Katie last chapter... OC's tend to worry me. I hope everyone out there is staying nice and warm! I've taken up gardening (with house plants) and decorating a new purse to keep me occupied. Also looking up new kinds of music, that's always fun! :)

Reviews are love, and love you guys~ best. readers. ever. ^.^


	9. Chapter 8: Your Song

On Monday, I'm lying upside down on the sofa, my head hanging down from the couch cushion so that my hair is hanging down, lightly brushing against the floor. It's late in the afternoon, and I'm tired because the jocks decided to treat me to not one, but two slushie baths today. I think I still smell vaguely like grape slushie, and I'm mad because it means I had to do laundry when I came home this afternoon. (I hate doing laundry.)

"Are you looking for a new career as a vacuum cleaner?" a voice breaks me out of my reverie.

"You're home? How was the conference?" I pull myself up from the sofa and twist myself backwards to look over the back of it at my mother.

"I heard you putting things in the laundry room," she replies. "What are you doing here? Don't you usually visit with your friends after school?"

"Change of plans," I say absently. Truth be told, I'd just been doused with my second grape slushie of the day right after my last class, so I decided to rush right home to get cleaned up. I'm not entirely sure why I decided to hang upside down from the sofa though. It seemed like fun at the time.

"The conference went well, but something's come up with a shipment, as in, someone claims it hasn't been delivered." My mother rolls her eyes sarcastically at that. "I'm off to go handle of it. Will you be okay on your own for dinner tonight?"

"Like I've never been before?" I raise an eyebrow at my mom, definitely weirded out. "Is everything all right?"

My mother laughs and reaches over to ruffle my hair. "Silly girl," she says, amused. "Oh, and your friend Artie called while you were in the laundry room earlier. I said it was okay for him to come over."

"You answered my cell phone?" I raise an eyebrow.

"No, there is this other invention, otherwise known as a landline." My mother gestures toward the phone on the end table.

I lean out from behind the sofa, letting my arms hang out over the back of it as I gape at her. "Sarcasm noted. Why're you acting like you need to break the news to me gently?"

"You were avoiding his calls for three weeks," replies my mother, in that unusually matter-of-fact tone I'm convinced all mothers have. "And because he called the house. Doesn't he usually call your cell phone, Tina?"

"It's better now," I mumble, thinking back to our conversation on the front lawn last night. "Honest!"

"Good." My mother gives my hair one last ruffle (I make a face at that), and then she's off, grabbing her purse. She's halfway to the door when she stops. "Oh, two things before I forget. Wait, make it three. Tina?"

"Yes?" I prop my chin up with my hands, letting my elbows rest on the back of the sofa. "What's up?"

"One, your father's calling from DC later tonight, and he wants to talk to you. Don't skip out on it again." My mother shoots me a pointed look. "I know he likes to ramble, but he's been looking forward to talking to you. Two, in exchange, I'll make kimchi this weekend and maybe Korean barbeque, which I know are some of your favorites. I don't care if it's technically bribery."

I nod my head and smile at my mom. "Okay, and number three?"

"I'm glad you and Artie are working things out. Have fun hanging out this afternoon." With this final cryptic comment, she heads out the door.

I was left gaping at the empty doorframe at my mother, wondering how on earth she manages to know these things about my life considering how busy she was most of the time. I hadn't even told her about my fight with Artie, although she knew something was up. (I know this only because she'd bought ice cream at the grocery store the day after our fight, and she _never_ buys ice cream.) I was still sort of half-staring into space when the familiar sound of wheels rolling in snapped me out of my reverie slightly.

"You look like you're thinking heavy thoughts." Artie is smirking slightly as he's wheeling into the living room. I bounce back into a forward-facing position on the sofa and wave at him.

"Just wondering if my mother's suddenly developed the ability to read minds," I say, shaking my head good-naturedly. "Hey, I didn't expect to see you."

"I decided to grace myself with your presence again today." He eases himself out of the chair and then sits right next to me on the sofa.

"Lucky me." I grin, because I really do feel fortunate. "How're you fairing?"

"I only got hit by the slushies once today." He shoots me a sympathetic look. "How're you doing? It's not often the jocks decide to go after someone twice in a day."

I shrug, because now I'm home and safe and feeling clean, so the slushie bath is now more or less an unpleasant memory in my mind. "It could be worse."

Artie's gaze drifts away from my face for a moment, and I suddenly realize he's nervous. I bite back the urge to laugh, even though his nervous expression is adorable and amusing, although mostly I'm wondering why he's looking so embarrassed. Then, I glance down at my legs and realize my sofa lounging antics have pulled my skirt up dangerously high. Blushing madly, I swiftly tug the fabric down over my knees and close my legs swiftly.

"So, homework?" I ask awkwardly, attempting to ignore the fact that I nearly gave my best friend, aka the boy I have a serious crush on and a plethora of weird ambiguous relationship issues with, a free show. I have some standards, _honest_.

"Do you really want to do homework?" Artie gives me a strange look. "Your idea of doing homework is in study hall the day it's due."

"It was just a suggestion," I say, grinning at the face Artie's pulling, even as I reach over to hit him gently in the shoulder. "No need to act like it's the coming of the apocalypse."

"Are you sure about that? I think it might be."

I shove him teasingly in the side again, even as I'm laughing about it. Then before I even know what's happening, this time, he's leaning in a little and his head is really close to mine and—oh my god, he's _kissing me._ The shock of this nearly sends me falling backwards off the sofa, but I quickly pull my act together and close my eyes and start kissing him back.

This kiss is deeper than either of the previous tentative ones we've shared before, and it's so much better than any kind of kiss I've ever dreamed about sharing with Artie. He's hesitant at first, especially when my brain was still trying to catch up with my body and actually react to things.

Now that both sides are eagerly participating, there's no slowing either of us down. Without even realizing it, I'm climbing into Artie's lap, and his hands are resting on my hips to keep me steady. When his tongue tentatively pushes against my lips, I can't help but part them a little to deepen the kiss further.

I'm officially acting on instinct now; anything resembling thinking has gone straight out the window. As I'm reaching out to tug eagerly at Artie's sweater vest, determined to get the damn thing off—the phone rings. We both pull back from each other with a groan, and I'm delicately trying to slide from Artie's lap so I can reach my cell phone.

He spies it on the end table and hands it to me with a nervous smile. A blush is creeping up his neck, even as he's trying to keep his attention focused firmly on my face. I take the phone, mouthing a thank you when I look down at the caller ID. It's not a call I can ignore, so I frown and say, "Sorry, Artie. It's my dad. Give me a minute, all right?"

Artie nods, then points awkwardly at his shirt, gesturing to the buttons. He's blushing furiously, even though only his sweater vest is untucked. A quick glance down at my torso reveals that _my_ shirt is half-unbuttoned (how did _that_ happen?), and now I'm a shade of red that would surely make a tomato jealous.

I'm only half-listening to my father, trying to say sound normal, despite well, trying to button up my shirt after a rather heated make out session with my best friend. After twenty agonizing minutes, I finally convince my dad to stop telling me about the wonders of Washington DC, claiming I have homework to do. He promises to call again tomorrow, and I end the call with a relieved sigh.

The silence is deafening. Despite the fact that we both look a little pink, it doesn't look like we'd just spent (I glance at the clock across the room) …well, an absurd amount of time sucking face.

"Homework again?" asks Artie, his grin sarcastic. "Is that your default excuse for everything tonight?"

I shrug, trying to remain nonchalant, even though I still feel the heat from the blush blooming over my cheeks. "Whatever works, right?"

Now Artie's red again, and I feel slightly vindicated.

"So, what now?" I ask, knowing full-well that we need to talk about whatever the heck just happened between the two of us. I'm not sure entirely that I want to, but avoiding things never works, or so I've learned.

"We could make out again?" Even though Artie and I are identical shades of red, and is tone is obviously joking, he looks almost hopeful at the suggestion.

"Or?" I ask, smiling. Not that I'd necessarily object to more make-out sessions, of course. But I've got to know my options, right?

"Or we could try this dating thing again?"

I'm sure I'm beaming so brightly now that I'd make a sunbeam jealous (well, it can go fight with the tomato). "We could."

Artie's beaming back at me, the great big goofy grin that makes me weak in the knees.

"Friday," I say, feeling confident. "We'll …do something."

"But don't we usually hang out together on Friday nights?" Artie looks a little confused, and now I'm laughing.

I quiet my giggles enough to reply. "But this time, it'll be a date!"

"What's the difference?"

I lean over to whisper into his ear, impressed by my own boldness. "Dates have more kissing involved."

"A date it is then."

---  
**Author's Note: **It's still cold, I'm still miserable. We're looking at one more chapter and the epilogue for the story, then this wild ride will be done (hard to believe, huh?). One other thing... the chapter titles are song titles, if you hadn't caught on to that part yet. As for the significance of the song titles--they're music that I was listening to and what directly influenced the writing of the chapter. Call them prompts, if you will. :) (I'm sure this says a great deal about my musical tastes.)

How're the rest of you doing? Leave a signed review, get a response... you're all such wonderful, incredible readers. Thanks!

Reviews are love.


	10. Chapter 9: For Your Entertainment

It's Friday night, and I'm fiddling with my arm warmers as I'm lounging on the sofa in the Abrams' den. Okay, so technically Artie and I are supposed to be having a "date" but a severe lack of transportation (as well as money) on both our parts has us essentially sticking to our usual routine. I might be dressed a little more nicely than usual (I'm wearing the new boots and a skirt without any obvious safety pins or rips—however my shirt is one I did modify myself and my jacket has studs, so it evens out), but for the most part, it's pretty not date-like in the slightest.

Well, except for the fact that my legs are resting in his lap. And his hand is absently rubbing along my knee in slow circles. Those actions are surprisingly date-like, and intimate. I can't say I mind too much though. We're watching _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ together, determined to make it through all of the Indiana Jones movies (even the "dreaded fourth one" as Artie likes to say) over the course of the weekend.

By the time the movie's over, we've switched positions and Artie's resting his head in my lap while I absently brush my fingers through his hair. A quick glance at my watch reveals it's barely nine, and although I am interested in starting in on _Temple of Doom,_ another part of me wants to do something a little different. I nudge him gently in the shoulder with my free hand.

"Hey, Artie," I say, glancing down to make sure he's not fallen asleep on me. "Let's get ice cream."

"Right now?" Artie sits up, looking vaguely interested by the prospect. "What made you think of it?"

"I did say we'd be having a date tonight," I remember, ducking my head for a second to make sure I'm not blushing too badly (I still remember what _else_ happened that afternoon, too). "I know we're probably not going to do anything too crazy, but I could use a break before we start in on the double part of the double feature."

"And you want ice cream?" Artie's shaking his head at me in good natured amusement, even as he's busy resettling himself back in the chair.

I grin, delighted that Artie's going to go along with my idea. "Yeah, it'll be fun. It's not like it's a far walk and it's not that late and come on, it's not like we've never done it before. Think of it as an extended intermission."

"Just for you," replies Artie with a smile of his own. "You can even get extra sprinkles if you want?"

"How generous," I tease back, even as we're heading down the street toward the ice cream parlor.

"You'd get them anyway," replies Artie. "So if I say you can have them now then it makes me look better, and you're happy, so it's win all around."

I roll my eyes and attempt to look annoyed as we stroll into the shop. "Just for that, I'm keeping the maraschino cherry that comes with my sundae."

He frowns a little bit at that. "But you don't like them."

We order our ice cream and because the store is fairly crowded, quickly decide to take our sweets down to the park to enjoy them. Artie hands me his waffle cone to hold while he settles himself down on the grass, and I not so sneakily take a bite from it.

"Hey!" grumbles Artie as he catches me daintily licking some of the hot fudge from the top of his cone. "That's my ice cream."

"And here I thought you were being nice, giving it to me and all," I say. I kneel down next to him and delicately offer a bite from my caramel and strawberry sundae. The bit I've scooped has the cherry on it (which I know he likes best). I hold the spoon out apologetically. "You can have a bite of mine?"

I deftly feed Artie the ice cream, and feeling a bit daring, I carefully lick another bite of his cone before handing it back to him.

"Thief," grumbles Artie once he's swallowed. His cheeks are a bit pink though, and I suspect that mine are too.

"Like you really mind," I say, digging into my own sundae. "If it makes you feel better, you can have some more of mine?"

Artie doesn't respond, instead, he reaches his hand out to take a bit of the whipped cream from my sundae with his finger.

"Now we're even." I scoot next to Artie, and wrap one of my legs around his. This makes him smile, which has me beaming while we're quietly finishing up our ice cream.

The silence is comfortable, but a bright light from above shines in the corner of my eye, so I turn my head up to see what it is. "Look," I say excitedly, pointing up at the night sky, "it's a shooting star. Make a wish, Artie."

"Do I have to?"

I ignore the teasing whine in his voice, instead closing my own eyes, starting to recite _Star Light, Star Bright_ under my breath as I make a wish of my own. It's silly and childish, but it's really pretty, and I already sort of know what to wish for, so I go ahead and take a chance. (Besides, my luck seems to be on a definite upswing these days, and I'm feeling daring.)

"So, what did you wish for?" Artie's poking me gently in the side, trying to get my attention again. He's still looking up at the sky.

"Can't say, or else it won't come true," I say, feeling glib. "I'd like to hope it was a star though. You can't really see them very well here because of all the other light pollution."

"Did you seriously just say light pollution?" Artie's tone is playful and I have a feeling about what he'll say next, so I quickly cut to the chase.

"Sometimes, I actually _do_ pay attention in science," I say, smiling mischievously. Before he can start teasing me again, I lean forward and place a quick kiss on his lips. (Well, I intended for it to be a quick kiss, but when I go to pull away, he's the one deepening it and it's several minutes later before the kiss finally ends. I don't exactly mind.)

"See? I said dates would have more kissing." I'm trying to sound confident, but it comes out a little bit breathless. I settle for smiling happily, hoping inwardly that it doesn't look too dopey or ridiculous.

Artie leans forward to kiss me again, and I'm _really_ okay with that.

When we break apart much later, we realize it's getting late and if we are going to get through the second movie tonight, we'd better head back to his house and get it started. We're quietly moving along together on the sidewalk just outside of his house when he stops abruptly. I pause mid-stride and give him a curious little look.

"So, does this mean you're my girlfriend now?" He asks, looking a little nervous and a lot hopeful. He's biting his lip nervously, even as he's looking at me.

I can't help it, it looks so serious and thoughtful, and I want to make a sarcastic quip. But if I do, I know he'll probably be devastated, so I instead perch myself in his lap on his chair, so we can regard each other eye to eye.

"Yes," I say, and he immediately looks relieved, which enables me to add in a sarcastic comment anyway. "Because I _always_ make out with people I'm just friends with. You know me, Tina C., flighty with her affections like that."

Artie frowns at me. "Don't put yourself down like that."

"Then don't ask such silly questions," I reply. "People generally don't ask _will you be my girlfriend_, you know, Artie. Does that _ever _happen in real life?" Shaking my head, I smile giddily at Artie.

"How should I know? I've never had one before. " Artie's gaze narrows a bit at me curiously, even as he's flushing a bit. "For that matter, how do you know?"

"Because I read too much," I reply lazily, leaning back against Artie in the chair. "It's not like I've had any experience either," I mutter, also feeling nervous.

"So, _Temple of Doom_?" asks Artie, breaking the silence that's settled over us.

"Sounds like a plan," I say good-naturedly. I make an attempt to get up from his lap, but he takes my hand with his before I can start moving.

"I'll give you a lift." I shrug my shoulders good-naturedly and decide to go with it, resettling back into Artie's lap. The giddy happy feeling continues to wash over me, and I can't say I really mind it. Together we roll back into the den, eventually curling back up on the sofa together. We're cuddled up next to each other, and Artie's taken a throw from behind the sofa, wrapping us both up in it.

I'm half-asleep, relaxed and comfortable, but before I do close my eyes, Artie suddenly shifts and straightens, which has me looking up. "Everything all right?" I ask, concerned.

"Yeah."

I give him a bit of a pointed look, wondering if he's going to leave it at that.

"So, Tee…"

"What?" I ask, growing curious. "You can ask me anything, so spit it out already, Artie."

"Thanks."

I laugh, leaning back again against his side. "I have no idea what you're thanking me for, but you're welcome. Now be quiet, because the movie's just about to get to the best part."

Artie laughs as well, and complies.

I'm thinking that dating might not be so bad after all, especially when it's with your best friend. Feeling completely at ease, I realize that it would be very easy to get used to this. Artie must be reading my mind again, because he mumbles the exact same thing to me during a lull in the action sequences.

I decide to reply with a kiss, and well, let's just say that _neither_ of us really paid attention to Indiana Jones and his escapades for the rest of the evening. (Not that that was a problem, necessarily.)

---

**Author's Note:** I meant to have this chapter up--oh, three days ago. But my desktop computer died and I was lucky to find the pre-edited version of this chapter saved on Gmail, and I went and re-edited it, but apologies if I didn't catch everything the second go-round. I have a laptop that I'm borrowing at the moment, and my desktop went into the shop today. Cross your fingers and hope that whatever made it not work can be fixed. (I'm serious.)

I still love all of you--especially the ones that send me messages and e-mails. They really make my day! I love responding to reviews and replies, so don't hesitate to leave either. (hint, hint.) _Reviews are love, and so are all of you. _:)


	11. Epilogue: Life Goes On

_Several weeks later..._

"You want me to attend your Aunt Paula's wedding next month?" Artie looks a bit visibly shaken at the thought, and I can't help but smile. I am, however, holding back the laugh threatening to come out, because honestly, his expression is starting to resemble a cartoon character's.

I lean in and kiss him quickly on the cheek. "Come on, I'm going to see my other grandmother, who is scary and Korean and I haven't seen her since I was seven. Plus, you did help me with the song I was working on for her."

"Helping you choose and practice a song is one thing, Tee," says Artie, still looking a little squeamish. "But come on, your mother freaks out whenever your grandmother's name is mentioned. Something tells me it won't end well."

"Moral support?" I ask, looking (I hope) sufficiently desperate. "Come on, Artie. Please? You like my aunt. You've met her a couple times. I really want you there with me."

I look up and Artie's sort of looking at me intently, his expression apologetic. "Don't freak out, Tee, okay? I'm sorry, I was just giving you a hard time. You know I'll go with you."

I glare at him, slightly annoyed. "This is serious. What if she doesn't like me?"

"What's not to like about you?"

When I open my mouth, prepared to rattle off all the reasons my Very Korean Grandmother Chang might not appreciate her Very American Granddaughter Cohen-Chang, Artie leans forward and quiets me with a kiss.

This shuts me up for a few minutes, but when we break contact, I'm still kind of worried. Artie grabs one of my hands and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Come on, Tee, you're amazing and she's going to love hearing you sing. Besides, it's a wedding, right? People are generally happy at those things. It should be fine."

"Yes, except for the fact that my parents have both nagged me at least six times about leaving the fishnets at home that day. I can dress myself, honest."

"I'm sure you'll look beautiful. You already are."

Artie looks a little red, and I'm sort of gaping at him, because it was really a very sweet thing to say, but at the same time, it sounded really, really corny, like something out of one of those ridiculous "dating advice" guidebooks. I'm torn between teasing him about it and melting into a little ball of happy goo.

I instead opt to rest my head on his shoulder. We're both sitting on the bed in his room and things have settled into a comfortable silence. The CD that had been playing earlier has long since stopped. I'm finally feeling a little calmer, so I curl even closer into Artie's side.

"I don't know if you can lean in any closer," says Artie teasingly, but he's wrapped an arm around my shoulders and his head is resting next to mine.

"Don't ruin the moment," I grumble teasingly. "It's not often I get use of a personal pillow."

"That's all I'm good for now?" Artie's tone is amused, and I wonder if he's raised an eyebrow at me. (I'm not quite curious enough to move and check for myself, though.)

"Among other things," I say, breezily.

"Like what?"

"I'd say something mean about not wanting to help along your ego," I say. "But because you were sweet to me earlier, I'll be nice."

Artie chuckles, and I can hear the vibrations in his chest, which has me humming happily.

I stop humming after a few seconds, so I can reply. "Okay, fine. You're good for being the most awesome best friend and boyfriend that a girl could ever ask for."

"Thanks for being awesome too, Tee."

This is too much. Suddenly, I'm laughing, and I pull away from Artie, finally falling back on his bed as I'm chuckling so much that I can barely sit up straight. Artie's looking at me with a confused expression on his face, and I try to calm myself enough to reply.

"Just look at us," I say, still gasping for breath between giggles. "We're being so cutesy and normally that would probably make me gag, because come on, who wants to act like every day's something out of a Hallmark movie? But it's true which makes it kind of incredible, and Artie, stop looking at me like that."

Now he's laughing which makes me start up again. When I think we're about to calm ourselves down, I somehow manage to fall from the bed which sends Artie into another round of hysterics (once he realizes I'm all right, of course). Vowing revenge, I grab a pillow and whack him upside the head with it, which sends Artie looking for the other pillow and soon, things have turned into an all out pillow war.

And somehow, I think that suits us a lot more.

---

**Author's Note: **And this story is _done._ You're all so very amazing--thanks for all the reviews, all the comments, e-mails and wonderful vibes you've sent my way. I'm a bit sorry to see this story end, but fear not! I have several other Artie/Tina projects on the horizon, including my new work in progress: _Artie, Tina, and the Very Potterful Movie Week_. (It's fluffy and cracky and _really_ geeky all at the same time.) I see several of you have found it already, and that is pretty darn _awesome_ right there. This story couldn't have been written without the incredible feedback and support provided by the Artie/Tina corner of Glee fandom. Thanks, everyone!

I hadn't been planning on posting this today, but my computer came back from the repair shop Thursday, and it's working again! The culprit was a dead video card. Huh. I've had kind of a crappy week and hadn't been planning on posting the end of the story yet, but... I couldn't help it. Plus, I think I just got invited to the wedding of my best friend from high school. That is kind of awesome and rather scary at the same time.

Reviews are love, and so are all of you. :)


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